I’m here with my parents for a 5-day road trip down the coast, but like most of our attempts to arrange anything, it was up in the air until the last minute. I was always under the vague impression that my family was the planning type, but I don’t know where I got that from.

In any case – I got a huge kick out of my dad getting a huge kick out of Virgin America (“there’s mood lighting! And you can order food FROM THE T.V.!”) And we made it to the bright, airy terminal at SFO around 1 p.m. Pacific time.

I instantly got the huge, silly grin on my face that I’ve dubbed “the West Coast grin.” To my mother’s dismay, there’s something about this side of the country puts me in an inexplicably good mood. She’s said more than once that she refuses to move me in to any apartment further west than Washington, D.C.

But I digress. Upon arrival, we stuffed our faces with sushi and cupcakes and walked around Union Square (they’ve got a laughable skating rink in the middle of it — sorry, but the East coast wins on the charming-integration-of-ice-into-urban-landscapes). We checked in, I read SF weekly, and then we took the cable car up Nob hill to peek into all the sweet houses, which is one of my weird favorite pass times. We played in the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral and got dinner at a cozy Italian place (a “real local place,” as dad says).

We’re now fighting off jet lag in our hotel room. We’re headed to Alcatraz and City Lights and some other cool must-sees tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes!

Love + fog.

I’m not planning an overhaul or anything here, nor am I making any sweeping claims to keep this updated more consistently (isn’t its inconsistency part of its charm, anyway?). I’m just looking to put a little bit of what doesn’t fall into the reporting/food/fashion writing parts of my life out here on the interwebs.

Recently, I’ve gotten a little itch to start keeping track of what’s buzzing in my brain somewhere other than my wonderful orange leather, thick-papered journal. It might be that I’m officially in Real World territory: I’m graduating in a little under five months, and that’s something that’s exhilarating, mind-blowing and scary depending on the day. Or it may be that my lists need a home other than my agenda. In either case, here’s my round-up of things I’d like to come into my life in 2011. Resolutions are silly, and I make enough of them on a daily basis, but here’s some stuff, big or small, that I’m hoping will find a place in this big year.

1. Killer high heels: I’m a flats-and-boots-girl at heart, because to me, there’s nothing as sexy as someone who looks comfortable, but really, I’d like to find a pair of shoes that screams GIRL POWER with a four-inch heel that I can actually walk in. Ah, the quest.
2. A Big Adventure: some girlfriends of mine and I have been tossing around the idea of documenting a dreamy month-long trek through Southeast Asia, but really, even a road trip or a spontaneous weekend getaway or two will cut it. As per the title of this blog, you can probably guess that I’m a traveller.
3. Healthy, delicious, local, sustainable food — including, but not limited to: more natural cereals (this is the year I’m going to eat steal-cut oats for breakfast, I can feel it) and a mini-herb garden on my kitchen table. Less red meat (if I can get over my steak addiction), less processed food and sugar. You know, taking care of my body ’cause it takes care of me.
4. Yoga: I’ve already got a committed, wonderful yoga buddy (Hannah, that’s you) — I just need to put it back into my weekly schedule.
5. Dance: This is already jam-packed into my life, thankfully, but I really want to savor it and take advantage of all the dance opportunities I’ve gotten in college. I’m really going to miss my dance family, but I want to focus on enjoying it while I can.
6. A sense of calm:  Abstract, yes, but as someone with a minor case of perfectionism and a tendency to jam-pack my schedule, I really want some breathing room for myself, at least internally. I’m always after the ability to shake off my type-A inclinations, and with all the big sea changes coming my way, I’m hoping I’ll be able to stay centered and take it all in stride.
7. Being in the moment: This year is the year I’m going to start ignoring my phone and my other life obligations when I’m in the midst of something, be it reading a magazine or hanging out at Sweetwater, Emerson’s go-to drown-the-sorrows-of-the-school-day tavern and bar. I want to pay attention to life, one thing at a time (I’ve never been a good multitasker, anyway).
8. My beautiful friends and family: They’re always a huge part of my existence (and keeping in touch with them totally fuels my text-messaging addiction) but I’ve met so many amazing people in the past few months that I just want to keep ‘em around — and keep meeting new people and connecting with them.

What are you guys hoping for in the New Year?

After another 30k+ ride yesterday to the Bagno Vignoni, aka thermal baths, Mom, Mike and I took the day off to explore Pienza and sleep in past 8 a.m., our standard vacation wake-up time. The boys did another insane ride while I fell in love with a pair of short, mustard-yellow lace-up boots that were way out of my price range. The afternoon brought us back to our collective favorite town for delicious crunchy pizzas, coca-cola lights and Esta The, another italian obsession of mine and Rob’s.

Then, we hit Siena, where they’re hosting Il Palio, the most intense horse race I’ve ever heard of, on August 16th in the Piaza del Campo, the city’s huge main square (which is actually more of a circle, but I digress). Basically, the only rule is that you can’t pull on another jockey’s horse’s reins — other than that, you can literally do anything short of killing another racer, including (but I imagine not limited to) drugging, kidnapping, or tricking your opponent. Needless to say, we had some fun speculating about that. We then sat down to yet another beyond-amazing dinner (as Robert said, Europeans totally have my full permission to keep thinking they’re better than everyone else solely because of their food) at a local osteria of freshly made pasta, rare veal with garlic, oil and rosemary, and the latest winner in our unofficial quest for the best bruschetta in Italy (this one had a bit of melted mozzerella on top).

Of course, we HAD to stop at Brivido, which is supposedly the best gelato in Siena, though I have yet to meet a gelato I didn’t like. I got white chocolate and peach-mango…yep, it was as awesome as it sounds. We had a hilarious car ride back to our hotel, and are gearing up for a big day of climbing the vertigo-inducing Leaning Tower of Pisa and a stop in Lucca before heading south to the Amalfi coast.

I’ve been longingly looking into real estate offices trying to figure out how fast I can have a life crisis and move here to write my best-selling memoir. If you want to come, you’re totally invited.

Let me backtrack. We left Florence yesterday afternoon after ducking into the Gallileo museum, windowshopping the Ponte Vecchio, and a quick stop at the leather market which included the pre-requisite being shuffled into a basement room in a back alley and thinking we were going to be abducted (but coming out with some sweet fall outerwear). Don’t worry, I’ve got a thorough photo diary in the works — including snapshots of my plate whenever I can stop falling in love with Italian food long enough to think of it.

We’re staying in this stunning little hotel in Pienza, one of the thousand beautiful, charming towns in Tuscany, which I’ve concluded is Vermont on steroids — terra-cotta, views-for-miles, cypress-tree-lined, oh-look-there’s-a-castle-no-big steroids. The pool and terasse of the restaurant both have a view that I have yet to be able to capture effectively on camera.

Last night we had an epic meal at the restaurant here – bruschetta, ravioli with pecorino and rosemary, and steak with cheese fondue and spinach. And of course, the now-usual post-meal gelato that will be responsible for my gaining 10 pounds and LOVING it. I’m still trying to narrow down my faovrite flavor — right now, caramel and lemon are pretty much tied. Oh, and don’t worry, because half of this town smells like awesome, fresh pecorino cheese (the local specialty). So I keep having to pinch myself so I don’t think I died and went to heaven.

Anyways, back to the ass-kicking I got today. The Ralphs (being the do-everything-together-all-the-time-especially-athletics type family that we are) rented bikes from this crazy, lean, tan Italian man who wears bike chains around his wrists and runs what seems to be the most legit biking company in Tuscany. We got outfitted there yesterday: Rob and my dad spent most of their time oogling his selection, and I made friends with his adorable mixed breed dog.

This morning, we woke up to an awesome continental breakfast and my mother hyperventilating. Of all of us, she’s probably the most nervous biker, especially when the roads are windy and shoulder-less a la Toscana. I probably should have been hyperventilating too, but I’m always up for a good workout…especially after eating everything I’ve laid eyes on so far.

We set out around 9 and promptly got lost, and then promptly reoriented ourselves to coast down one of said breathtakingly gorgeous hills for 25 minutes. But of course, what goes down must go up. And by up, I mean 2 hours later, 8 kilometers of a 10% grade incline up. To a fortress. So we’re talking really high up. Thank the biking gods for my slighly insane cyclist of a brother, who pushed a sweating, cursing-in-every-language-I-could-think-of me up a good 3k of it.

All to say that there was an awesome meal at a tiny cave of a restaurant called La Grotta and about 6 bottles of water waiting  at the top, and mom, Mike and I promptly found a parkand took a nap while my crazy ridiculously fit brother and father went the last 30  kilometers back to our car to come get us. It was an adventure, to say the least.

I have decided I need to do about 50 laps in the pool tomorrow morning just to chill out my poor muscles, and maybe find a half-ironman to train for to get myself into hardcore physical condition — for when I live here and ride my bike to the market for fresh pecorino and tomatoes, of course.

As non-fussy of a traveler as I consider myself to be (excuse that fussy sentence construction, I’m still getting used to this European keyboard/time change) I have never had any luck falling asleep in an upright position. I’ve passed out on dirt, concrete, airport floors, back seats and benches — as long as I’m horizontal, I’m good — but the whole overnight flight thing never goes well for me.

However, 20 minutes into my attempt at finally watching Wall Street (Michael Douglas, you KILL me in those suspenders, and also make me kind of want a pair) I conked out for a solid 4 hours. It must be Italy working its charm already.

Right off the plane (my dad and I flew direct to Rome, mom and the bros had a layover in Frankfurt) I had one thing on my brain: pizza. Apparently, its completely acceptable breakfast food here, so Earl — the man whose genes I hold responsible for my often mind-bogglingly large appetite — and I chowed down on two heavenly pieces of sourdough-y margharita. A solid start.

We picked up our car, a clunky Toueran (ah, the minivan of Europe) from an adorable Italian woman at the Avis counter who reminded me of my mom in the 70s (especially with her Farrah Fawcett layers) and camped out at Arrivals to wait for the rest of the clan. I tore through Vogue’s Age issue, which sometimes disappoints me with its overt focus on plastic surgery but was FANTASTIC and chock-full of rip-out-and-save-for-inspiration profiles. A few more naps at the airport cafe and the remaining Ralphs were in Rome.

Fact about my family: we love driving. Like, probably more than is reasonable. Our 2-hour weekend trek to Vermont feels like nothing to any of us, so we tend to be gung-ho about roadtripping. Hence the bright idea to drive through most of Italy, starting with a 3-hour jaunt from Rome to Florence, which I’m sure was scenic, but was also missed by all of us except dad. Yeah, you guessed it — more naps. What I did see of Tuscany made me very excited/nervous for our bike tour there in a few days. Rolling hills are pretty from a car, but I’m sure the dinner I just ate (two kinds of pasta, risotto, stewed beef, grilled pork chops, and oh yeah, fried rabbit and zucchini flowers) are not going to help me climb up those.

Anyways, I’m off for an early bedtime. We’ve got a meeting with the David tomorrow at 9:30, and my dad keeps pretending to be Oprah and telling us that we’re all getting leather jackets (I’ll let you know how that hefty promise pans out). Plus, there’s a heck of a lot of gelato ground to cover.

Buena notte, bellas! More from me if the Hotel Belvedere internet ever speeds up.

From the moment we drove over the Talmadge Memorial Bridge, we were head over heels in love with Savannah. The trees are draped in the most romantic Spanish moss, the buildings are gorgeous, all the little shops and cafes have this impeccably amazing old-school Southern style, ghosts still hang around most of the major hotels and landmarks, and, as Liv would say in her dead-on midwestern accent, “everything is just so darn CHARMIN’!” I’m seriously considering moving here to study any of SCAD (Savannah College of Art and Design, where Kristina’s friend Michael studies animation)’s amazing programs. Fibers? Fashion? Illustration? Sighh. Last night, we got coffee at Gallery Espresso, which made the BEST chai tea I’ve ever had in my life. Then we had burgers and beers at Moon River Brewery – I had these gouda scalloped potatoes – yea, I KNOW. We then proceeded to get a little southern hospitality at a bar called the rail, where the bartender talking to us about some porno-esque movie he watched on Netflix. Kay. Otherwise, we had a lovely time hangin’ out with Michael and his friend Sarah, who reminds me of my best friend Lilly a freakish amount.

Anyways, I guess I’ll back-track a little bit – today Michael and his adorable beagle-german shepherd-pitbull Cayo Miley Cyrus Cakefarts are going to be our tour guides around Savannah, and let y’all know all about that the next time we get internet.

Day 1: Leominster, MA to Brooklyn, NY to Charlottesville, VA

Lots of sittin’ in traffic gazing at the New York skyline. I drove all the way from Leominster to New York – I was pretty proud of myself. I didn’t have to navigate the big apple’s rush hour though: that was all K. Then we sped off to Charlottesville, Virginia, where K’s friend Regina lives. She had homemade chili and cornbread waiting for us, and sheets made of deliciously soft fleece, so all in all, a wonderful pit stop.

Day 2: Charlottesville, VA to Savannah, GA

We were up early and on the road to Georgia. The south is in an unseasonable cold snap and everyone’s pretty upset about it, including me, considering I brought shorts and a dress and was expecting springtime weather at the very least. Anyways, the major stop of dia dos featured our first taste of BBQ in Benson, North Carolina – pretty decent, but the hush puppies (essentially little blobs of corn dog batter without the dog) were amazing. Kristina had a huge freak out when she thought she left her wallet at a gas station back in Virginia – thank the road trip gods for Liv, who emerged from the bathroom just in time to save K from a major panic attack to remind her it was in the back seat. That was enough excitement for the day – we barreled through the Southeast, and got to Savannah around 5.

Well, that’s all for now, folks. Talk to you the next time we find some internet. We’re headin’ to Montgomery, Alabama around 4, where we’ll stop for the night so we can hit NEW ORLEANS early the next day. We’ve been talking about eating crawfish and gumbo since Brooklyn, so it’s safe to say we’re all pretty pumped.

Much love and safe travels!

Anyways – after the long and treacherous bus ride back to Boston from my hometown Montreal, I finally made it to Boston. K and I grabbed greasy pizza, passed out at my apartment in Central Square, and SPED back to Leominster, MA to pack up her car early this morning.

I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty proud of myself — as K has been saying, I totally “revolutionized her packing”. There aren’t many things I feel I’ve mastered, but after much practice, I’ve finally reached the point where I can put “packing” on my list of things I’m a PRO at (the list isn’t very long). I pretty much had to drag her to Target to buy duffel bags (she had her whole life stuffed into huge cardboard boxes) and then instructed her on the “rolling” technique that is the secret to all packing success.

As of now, we’re anxiously awaiting watching Twilight (love it) and our departure tomorrow. We’re heading to Brooklyn to pick up Liv, than down to Savannah, New Orleans, Austin, Santa Fe, and the Grand Canyon. L.A. or bust!

I’m going to try and post as much as I can, so keep checkin’ in. Hope  you’re all having wonderful new years so far!

It’s been that kind of month, metaphorically speaking — god knows i’m not the kind of person who’d be training for a marathon. All my classes, and my job, and my internship, are all head on, mouth-full-of-saltwater-oh-my-god-i-just-want-to-swim-how-did-i-get-stuck-under-this-massive-wave level difficult, in the sense that I only want to do the best that I can in all of them, and they each just require what feels like too much time and effort to make that happen. So I hope you’ll excuse my whimpering and whining and total and complete absence from ze blog? Ah, merci! I knew you’d understand.

In any case, the blogosphere is currently the one thing in my life where I feel like I just may have a handle on something good, so I figured I’d dust off my old standby of a personal blog even though I’ve been way busy playing with my shiny new toy, the(style)saurus. It’s only got one post so far, but I got great feedback from my boss and my fellow interns about it, and I’m secretly hoping it will be my meal ticket to Conde Nast, or even better, independent wealth and fame and the equivalent of season tickets to every fashion week, ever. I can dream, right?

On a parting note, I’ve had the sweetest little Carla Bruni song stuck in my head. Ima go ahead and leave you with the gorgeous french lyrics.

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses.
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud que de nos chagrins il s’en fait des manteaux pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit…

Refrain
Que tu m’aimais encore,
C’est quelqu’un qui m’a dit que tu m’aimais encore.
Serais ce possible alors ?

On me dit que le destin se moque bien de nous
Qu’il ne nous donne rien et qu’il nous promet tout
Parais qu’le bonheur est à portée de main,
Alors on tend la main et on se retrouve fou
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit …

Refrain

Mais qui est ce qui m’a dit que toujours tu m’aimais?
Je ne me souviens plus c’était tard dans la nuit,
J’entend encore la voix, mais je ne vois plus les traits
“Il vous aime, c’est secret, lui dites pas que j’vous l’ai dit”
Tu vois quelqu’un m’a dit…

Que tu m’aimais encore, me l’a t’on vraiment dit…
Que tu m’aimais encore, serais ce possible alors ?

On me dit que nos vies ne valent pas grand chose,
Elles passent en un instant comme fanent les roses
On me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud
Que de nos tristesses il s’en fait des manteaux,
Pourtant quelqu’un m’a dit que…

Refrain